


Pictures of You

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Tom Hiddleston RPF
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, What-If, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:44:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4622367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catalina hooks up with a handsome English stranger on her graduation day from college in Ystad. Three years later, chance has it they meet again - and now, he's on his way to becoming a Hollywood star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She remembered that day well. The 10th of June, 2008, and the day she graduated from college. She had been sitting in the sand, head buzzing from knock-off champagne, in her underwear that was still drying in the sun. It had been a hot start of the summer, but the sea in Sweden is always cold. She remembered that night well, too.

 

The discomfort squirmed in her belly as she watched them, knee-deep in the white-tipped waves that were licking the shoreline, jumping slightly whenever a swell threatened to graze their thighs. He laughed as she splashed him, his abs still bronzed from their easter holiday trip to Greece. It had been her then - Catalina frolicking in the freezing Mediterranean with Jonathan. And now it was _them_. 

 

She had assured Frida it didn’t matter, that she was so over it. And she had meant it. And yet… She closed her eyes, shutting away the scene unfolding in front of her, where Jonathan had grabbed Frida around the belly, causing her to squeal and beg him not to throw her in the water. Cat’s curls were still wet, and she focused all her attention on the steady drip-drip on her legs and back. 

 

“A little cold for swimming, isn’t it?” she heard someone say in English.

 

Catalina looked up, shading her eyes with her hand. A man who looked to be in his mid-twenties with curls to match her own was standing a couple of meters away, watching her friends.

 

“That’s why I’m up here,” she said, slightly self-conscious of her Swedish accent in front of this obviously native speaker.

 

“You’ve been in though,” he said, quickly eyeing her damp underwear.

 

“It’s tradition,” she said. She looked him over. He wasn’t bad-looking. Not at all. Spurred by the lingering buzz of alcohol and her friends’ unbearable displays of affection, she patted the sand next to her. “Have a seat.”

 

He did, folding his arms around his knees. “What’s with all the white dresses?” he asked, nodding at another group of newly-graduated students along the beach. 

 

“Graduation day,” said Catalina, motioning at her own dress, lying crumpled in a heap on the sand by her feet. “Are you English? What are you doing here?”

 

“Sorry, how rude of me. I’m Tom,” he said, extending his hand. 

 

“Catalina,” she replied, shaking it with an amused smile.

 

“I’m here filming a TV series.”

 

“Ooh, are you a celebrity?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Hardly,” he said with a smirk. “It’s called Wallander, if you’ve heard of it.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” she said, trying not to sound too disappointed. The Ystad area was known for spitting out Wallander movies faster than you could say straight-to-DVD.

 

“Catalina,” he said slowly, as if tasting the name. “That’s unusual.”

 

“My dad was from Chile,” she said.

 

“Well, it’s beautiful,” said Tom, flashing her a charming smile that made her heart do a little flip.

 

Down by the shore, Frida and Jonathan were coming back up onto the beach, stopping to kiss and stumble in the sand. Cat was suddenly struck with the realisation that she didn’t want them to interrupt this, and throwing caution to the wind, she got to her feet, then turned to Tom. “Do you want to get out of here?” she asked.

 

He made a surprised face, then shrugged. “Sure,” he said with a little laugh.

 

Quickly, she brushed the sand off her bum, hoping her panties didn’t look too bad. She slipped her graduation dress over her head, then reached down for him and pulled him onto his feet. As they made their way over the dunes, she could hear Frida calling for her, but the sun was already low in the sky and she was on an adventure with a handsome stranger.

 

Walking next to him, she felt short. He was slim, but his arms and legs were toned, she noted. His body had none of the ungainly awkwardness of her old classmates, and she wondered again how old he was. No older than thirty, surely. An unbid thought fluttered through her brain. _Not too old_.

 

They bought ice cream in the square and strolled through the cobbled streets of Ystad, talking and trying their best to ignore the hoarse chanting from the students taking to the streets in hunt of more alcohol. He had studied at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art which to Catalina sounded very posh. Before that, he’d been to Cambridge, and she knew for a fact that _that_ was posh. Her grades were more than decent, and she was a legal adult as of two years ago, but she couldn’t help but feel like the schoolgirl she’d only just been when he asked her about her plans for the future.

 

“I took a year out, and then studied photography,” she said uncertainly. “That’s why I came all the way down here. My family is much further north, really, but the college here is good… I’d love to keep doing that. But it’s a tough business.”

 

“What kind of camera do you use?” Tom asked.

 

“I still like my old SLR, but for class I used a Canon EOS 350D, with a 50 mm, a macro, and a zoom,” she rattled off proudly. “Still saving up for a decent wide angle.”

 

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “That… That tells me very little.” He burst into laughter, and she laughed along with him, feeling slightly smug that she was smarter than him at something.

 

Suddenly, she spotted Jonathan with a group of friends across the street. She twirled around, stepping smoothly in front of Tom, stopping him in his stride. “Hey,” she said, then glanced up at the building next to them. It was the local cinema. “Wanna catch a movie?”

 

He gave that surprised laugh again. “Why not?”

 

Out of the two movies showing, one was in Swedish, so _Iron Man_ it was. 

 

“I have no idea what this is about,” she said, looking down at her ticket as they waited in line for the concessions stand. 

 

“Superhero movie,” said Tom. “Could be good, could be bad.”

 

The film was good, Cat thought, but she kept glancing at Tom at her side. She was almost regretting dragging him in here. She’d been half hoping for some kissing in the dark, but Tom was seemingly engrossed in the movie, sliding further and further down into his seat, his eyes trained on the screen, the popcorn forgotten on the floor. Afterwards, they walked slowly in the pale late evening light.

 

“I think they’ve got something there,” he said after a while. 

 

“Hm?”

 

“It wasn’t like Batman and it wasn’t like X-Men. This was a good mix of comedy and action. And Robert Downey… That was a big surprise. After everything. The role really suits him.”

 

Catalina shrugged in agreement. “I suppose. Would you like to do something like that?”

 

“Me?” he said, startled. “That’s not… I mean, you shouldn’t pigeonhole yourself as an actor, but–,” He shook his head slightly. “I’ve never done anything even remotely like that. I should be so lucky, you know?”

 

“Dreaming of Hollywood?”

 

“Everyone does,” he said immediately. “Everyone.”

 

They had stopped, alone on the pavement, facing one another. They were awfully close, and now he was watching her just as intently as he had been the cinema screen. “Go for it, then,” she said, leaving the statement open for interpretation.

 

“You have such lovely freckles,” he said out of nowhere, reaching up to brush his thumb across her cheek.

 

His kiss was soft but purposeful, and it set her heart racing in a way she hadn’t felt in months with Jonathan. 

 

“Sorry,” he said as they broke apart, an uncertain expression on his face.

 

“I’m not,” she said, and tilted her face towards his, sliding her hand up his arm as their lips met again. He wrapped his arms gently around her, and she pressed herself against him, aching for that closeness and more in a way she hadn’t realised until now. “Come back to my place,” she murmured against his lips, and when he gave his little laugh, she knew he was hers for the night.

 

Once inside her cramped little flat, Tom excused himself and went to the bathroom, giving Cat a couple of minutes to frantically clear away the wax strips she’d used last evening, and the breakfast bowls and coffee mugs crowding the table. There was a faint smell on her left arm of cheap beer that someone had spilled over her earlier, and as soon as Tom was done with whatever business he had, she stepped into the shower to rinse off quickly. Donning fresh panties, a tank top and tracksuit bottoms, she glanced in the mirror and pushed her shoulders back and her chin up. She was an adult, she told herself. She was officially out of college, she’d been with three guys, and she was an adult, free to do whatever she wanted, with whoever she wanted. 

 

When she stepped back out, she found Tom studying her photo wall. She left him to it and lit the fairy lights above the window, set some candles on the table, then went to fetch a bottle of wine she’d bought the day she turned twenty, not three weeks ago.

 

“These are really good,” he said when she returned, eyes still flitting across the photographs. Most of them were her own black and white prints from the lab at college, while some were colour printouts of her digital work. “The portraits especially are great,” he continued, and Cat bit her lip at the realisation that one of the best ones was of Jonathan. She’d been meaning to take it down.

 

“Thank you,” she said.

 

“Top of the class, I expect?” he said, flashing her a smile. For a split second he sounded almost like a kind, older relative, and not like the guy she’d brought home to… _Fuck the pain away,_ the voice of Peaches echoed in her head.  

 

“I doubt it,” she said. “But top grades in photography, yes. Wine?”

 

She poured him a glass and he sniffed at it, then took a swill. “A fine vintage,” he said in a strained voice, barely masking a grimace. 

 

Cat snorted at him before taking a big gulp of her own. “That’s pretty awful actually,” she said, suppressing a giggle.

 

But drink it they did, all while the sun dipped briefly below the horizon before tinting the sky rose once more, setting the dawn chorus chattering and chirping outside.

 

“Does it ever get dark here?” Tom asked with a glance at the window. Her hand was in his, and he was tracing patterns on the back of it, connecting the dots of her lightly freckled skin as if mapping the zodiac.

 

“Come back in six months’ time,” she said. “Up north, where I used to live, we go a month without seeing the sun in the winter.”

 

Now though, the early morning rays gilded the walls, and looking up at Tom’s face she suddenly saw it.

 

“Wait there,” she said, untangled her fingers and jumped up from the sofa. The wine had made her slightly unsteady, but she had a tripod. 

 

“What are you doing?” he asked curiously as she set it up hastily. He began moving as if to stand up.

 

“No, don’t,” she said, motioning at him to sit down. “There’s a picture here.”

 

Once the camera was in place, she looked through the view finder and adjusted the aperture. Tom wiggled his eyebrows at her in the tiny square, then smiled stiffly. She gave him a lopsided smile back, then looked up at him, finger resting on the shutter release.

 

“You have to press that, I think,” he said once a few seconds had passed. “And you might want to look through the…” he motioned at the lens.

 

“Uh-huh,” she said, watching him, biding her time. After a while he became uncomfortable, glancing out the window again. When he looked back at her, she snapped it. “Got it,” she said with a grin.

 

“Can I see?” Tom asked, leaning forward a little.

 

“This is the old SLR. It’s got real film in it. I’ll have to check with Björn if I can come by and develop it. It might be a few days though. I still have half a roll in there.”

 

“Oh,” he said, sounding a little disappointed. “We’ll be gone by then. We only have two days of shooting left.”

 

_Good._ “Better make the most of tonight then,” Cat said in what she hoped was a seductive voice as she joined him again on the sofa. 

 

That time, they hadn’t stopped at kissing. She remembered that night well, because as one night stands go, it wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. He had been considerate, and anxious to please, and helped along by cheap red and careful but experienced fingers, she had gotten hers before he got his. When she had woken, he had already been gone, and she had thanked her lucky star she hadn’t had to deal with an awkward morning after.

 

She had developed the print a couple of weeks later. It was good, and for almost a year, it had stayed in her portfolio, until better work and samples from professional gigs had pushed her black and whites out one by one. Since then, it had been gathering dust in a box, moving from Ystad, Sweden, to Copenhagen Denmark, and finally to London, England, forgotten for almost two years, until now, when she had opened an email from Suzanne detailing her shoots for the week. Marvel were continuing to launch superhero titles, and this time, a local boy had one of the main parts. This afternoon, they were meeting him near Hampstead Heath for a chat and a couple of snaps. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Cat spent the morning googling. Tom had had a busy couple of years it seemed. He had two other big movies coming out later in the year. Woody Allen and Spielberg. A far cry from the Swedish noir of _Wallander_. She had to look at screenshots and clips from the series to convince herself that this was indeed her handsome English stranger from her graduation day. He was on the brink of stardom now, it seemed. Several other magazines had already run pieces on him, and she scrolled through the various spreads. Regular research, she told herself, and it was partly true. She made note of his best features - long limbs, sharp cheekbones, a good head of hair - and read through the brief from Suzanne again. Nothing special. This was the first piece _Circa_ had on Tom, and it was a regular promo interview.

 

In the car with James, who was doing the words, she contemplated saying something about their previous meeting. If he remembered her, he might say something, and then James would wonder… But to say _something_ meant she had to explain, and James was nothing if not a journalist. 

 

“What a fucking day for it,” he grumbled. “It’s February. Where’s the fucking spring at?”

 

It was fairly cold for the season, barely above freezing, but the sky was clear and the air high. The winter months didn’t bother Cat. Shooting outside was part of the job, and she dressed accordingly.

 

“Gonna have some great light in a couple of hours,” she said. 

 

“Good for you,” said James, steering the car onto a parking lot with a rough swerve. “I’m staying in the café when I’m done.”

 

_Don’t mind if you do_ , thought Cat with a little smile of relief.

 

While James continued to the agreed meeting place, Catalina went to scout for good locations. In the end she settled for the old outdoors baths, deserted at this time of year, and texted James with the details. Then she waited.

 

When he turned up, she barely recognised him. His blonde curls had been replaced by short, tousled, brown waves, and he’d lost some of the boyish cute looks she recalled from that day in June. He was every bit as handsome, though, if not more, and her heart did a double take she hadn’t expected when he stopped dead in his tracks upon spotting her. He remembered her, it would seem.

 

“Hey there,” he called out as he approached, more slowly.

 

“Hey,” she replied, giving a little wave. 

 

He looked around in confusion before joining her on the bridge by the mixed swimming pond. “What a coincidence,” he said, pulling a gloved hand out of his coat pocket, seemingly unsure of wether to shake hers or not.

 

Cat made the decision for him and grabbed his hand firmly. “Catalina,” she said, firing off a her most professional smile.

 

“Of course,” said Tom, still shaking her hand in apparent disbelief. “I did remember. I just… What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m the photographer,” she said, but his stare remained blank. “For _Circa_ ,” she said, gently pulling her hand loose. 

 

Realisation finally dawned and his face broke into a smile. “Oh my goodness. Of course. Of _course_.” He laughed. “Wow. Wow!”

 

“Still, it _is_ a strange coincidence,” said Cat. He gave her a funny look, and a horrible thought struck her. “I mean,” she continued hurriedly, “it’s not like I _asked_ for this job.” _Oh shit, that sounded even worse._ “Not that I mind! Not at all. It’s great to see you. But it just turned up, randomly.”

 

“Not stalking me, then?” he asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

 

“Oh get over yourself,” she said jokingly, prodding his arm. “You’re not _that_ famous. Not yet. But you’re doing well. Hollywood after all, eh?”

 

“You’re not doing so bad yourself. Made it as a photographer!”

 

“Yeah, you know. I get by.”

 

They stood there for a little while, smiling awkwardly, trying to avoid one another’s gazes. 

 

“So,” said Catalina, breaking the increasingly weird silence. “Shall we…?” She jutted her thumb over her shoulder towards where she’d set up her equipment.

 

“Hey,” said Tom, grabbing her arm gently. “Thank you for last time. And sorry I left without saying goodbye.”

 

“Always the best way, I find,” she said lightly, trying to make sure he wasn’t going to be uncomfortable for the shoot.

 

She had already chatted away a good portion of the time they had, but the light was spectacular, and she wanted this shoot to be a good one. Tom was evidently more relaxed in front of a camera now, but she was always looking for something out of the ordinary if she had the time. She glanced at her watch, then mentally told James to go fuck himself. Switching into work mode, she gently directed Tom around the area, catching some good portraits and medium shots in the dying sun, but it was only at the end that she saw the obvious shot she’d been looking for all along. Her phone was buzzing in her pocket, but she ignored it.

 

“Are you pressed for time?” she asked Tom.

 

“Not really,” he said. “I live close by.”

 

“Fancy,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

 

“It is, and I’m one hundred per cent pleased with it,” he said.

 

“You smug bastard,” she said with a smile. “Follow me.”

 

In the end, she snapped a few stunning pictures of Tom standing at the very edge of the pool, his dark reflection close to immaculate in the tranquil water.

 

“Awesome,” she muttered to herself as she flipped through the images on the portable display.

 

“Can I see?” asked Tom, coming to stand next to her.

 

“This time you can, actually.”

 

“Nice,” he said, nodding approvingly as she showed him a few samples. “Thank you for putting so much time and thought into it.”

 

“Well, you know, I’m forever trying to improve. I’d prefer not to be stuck at _Circa_ for the rest of my days.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll make the _Time_ cover before I do,” he said with a grin, and she rolled her eyes. “So…” he continued, cocking his head a little. “Did you ever develop that picture…?”

 

“I did. It’s not a bad one. Had it in my portfolio for a good year afterwards.”

 

Tom smiled, looking down in an almost embarrassed way. “I’m glad to hear it. I’d love to see it some day.”

 

_He really was the perfect English gentleman, wasn’t he?_ Catalina fished around in her pocket for a while until she managed to produce a business card. “Ask your agent to give me an address,” she said. “I’ll make sure to send you a copy.” That was one call she knew she’d never get, but at least now all the necessary niceties had been observed.

 

“Thank you,” he said, before extending his arms, inviting her into an embrace. Confused and flattered, she stepped into it, soon finding herself snugly crushed against his lean chest. He held the hug for a long time, long enough for her heart to start pounding and a blush to rise on her cheeks, and when he pulled away, he planted a chaste kiss on her cheek. “I’ll see you around Catalina,” he said, then walked off towards Hampstead again, leaving her flustered and giddy with feelings she absolutely had no need for.

 

“What the everliving fuck took such a long time?” James raged when she returned to the car.

 

“The light…” she began, but James cut her off.

 

“Pictures, Cat. Simple pictures, that’s all we’re asking for. We’re not fucking _Vogue_. I know we call it art, but they’re not going to be hung in the fucking Tate, you know. Jesus fucking Christ.” 

 

Suzanne was pleased, however. “Great work, Cat,” she said, flipping through a selection of raw prints back at headquarters. “Sending these ones along to Sebastian right away, so if you have any thoughts, now’s the time.”

 

Sebastian was their resident retoucher - a Photoshop wizard who deserved so much better than _Circa_ , and her one true friend in the office. As it turned out, she did have a few thoughts, and even though it was getting late, she sidled up to his desk, not-so-subtly placing a Yorkie bar from the vending machine next to him.

 

“What now,” he said with feigned exasperation, not bothering to look up from his screen where the photos of Tom were lined up as thumbnails “This is really good art, nothing special needs doing. Such a handsome man, too.”

 

“Have you seen the promo pictures of the movie? _Thor_?”

 

“Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back? Of course I have.”

 

She should have known. Seb, her huge loveable geek. She tabbed through the photos until she found one of the full body shots of Tom at the pond. “I thought maybe it’d be cool to have his reflection have horns.”

 

“Loki horns?” Seb asked. In an instant he brought up Google, and faster than she could blink, he’d copied and pasted an outline of a headdress similar to the one Tom had in the promo shots onto his reflection. A few seconds later, he’d adjusted the layers to blend half-decently. He leaned back in his chair and squinted. “Cool effect. But too much for _Circa_ , you know.”

 

“Maybe you could…” she began. “For me.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, if and when I have the time,” said Seb, snatching up the chocolate bar. Then he turned around and looked at her, eyes narrowed. “You like him, don’t you?”

 

“Pfft… _You_ like him,” she said, backing away towards her desk again.

 

“You do!” he shouted after her. “You saucy minx!”

 

Catalina’s bedsit in Hackney Downs was run-down and right behind the train tracks, but it had an ensuite and it was _hers_. After doing her rounds on couches and sharing houses with rowdy students for a year, her little one-room flat felt like a palace. 

 

As soon as she threw her bag inside the door, the fight against her urge to bring up her laptop and start googling Tom again began. She had a shower, then heated some leftover stir-fry. There was nothing decent on the telly, and her fingers were impatiently drumming her bag when the sound of her work phone ringing inside it made her jump several inches. Digging it out, she stared at the screen. Unknown number could only mean Suzanne was calling her from home. Biting her lip, she toyed with the idea of simply leaving it. She’d already stayed two hours longer at the office… But it might just be a late change in her schedule tomorrow morning. 

 

“Yep,” she answered it.

 

“ _Hello? Catalina?_ ” It wasn’t Suzanne at all. It was a guy.

 

“Yes, sorry, hello,” she said, sitting up straight, her heart pounding.

 

“ _Hi! It’s Tom. Tom Hiddleston_.”

 

_Oh God_. “Oh, hello!” she said, trying to sound cheerful rather than hysterical.

 

“ _How are you?_ ”

 

“Good. Great. You?” She stood up, and began pacing the short distance between her bed and the kitchenette. Why on earth was he calling her?

 

“ _Great, thanks. I was just wondering…_ ”

 

“About the pictures? Suzanne’s going to send them through to your agent for approval as soon as–,”

 

“ _No, I wasn’t calling about the pictures. I was wondering if you’d like to go for a drink sometime_.”

 

Cat stopped dead in her tracks, momentarily stunned into silence. “Uh, sure,” she said once she’d regained her ability to speak. “I mean, I’d like that.”

 

“ _Tomorrow?_ ”

 

“Sure, absolutely,” she said, reminding herself to scrap dinner with Joanne and Karl. They wouldn’t mind. They’d be thrilled to hear she had a date, she was sure.

 

She scribbled down the address of a pub that was apparently close to where James had held the interview, and a couple of polite phrases and nervous laughters later, she was left standing with the phone in her hand, wondering what the hell had just happened.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The whole next day passed in a hurried blur of last minute changes, ending with Cat going out on location for _The Herald_ , their mother paper, filling in for one of their photographers and desperately trying to get some good last minute shots of a newly opened playground. By the time she made it there, it was pouring down, and the place was deserted. She snapped a couple of pictures and then, knowing full well she’d have to come back to it some other day, rushed into a nearby Debenhams in the hopes of finding something to wear for the evening.

 

She arrived early at the pub, twenty minutes to eight, which meant she had plenty of time to fret about the length of her new dress and the fact that she was still wearing her chunky work boots with it. At least both were black, but coupled with her rain-drenched hair, she was sure she looked more like a 90’s goth chick than a chic photographer for a lifestyle magazine. She grabbed a table with a good view of the door, but after ten minutes of trying not to stare at it, she had to swap seats so she was staring at the wall (and a picture of what seemed to be an extremely old, extremely detailed layout for some sort of ship) instead. 

 

After nursing her glass of wine for a little while, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and spun around in her seat to find Tom towering over her. Unlike her, he’d been wise enough to bring an umbrella, and looked immaculate from top to bottom. 

 

“Hi!” she said nervously, getting to her feet.

 

“Hello,” he replied with a smile - a friendly smile, she noted, but nothing more - then gave her a little peck on the cheek. “Not been waiting too long, I hope?”

 

“You’re early,” she said, glancing at the clock above the bar. “I was just even earlier.”

 

“Punctuality is a virtue.” 

 

“I thought patience was.”

 

“If someone lacks the former, the latter is useful, I suppose,” said Tom, flashing her another smile, “but I’m not a terribly patient man.”

 

His poison was whiskey, and hers was wine, but somehow, talking to Tom was easy - so easy their glasses were mostly left untouched. He made her tell him all about her years as a struggling freelancer, wincing along with her description of the chaotic months in Copenhagen. She asked him about the various movies he’d been filming this year, and he talked with ease and animation about the productions. From skimming through various recent interviews, including James’s, she’d heard most of it before, she noted. While he kept his tone friendly and intimate, there were very few details to distinguish their chat from an interview. His voice and manner, she found, was what drew laughers from her, what made her lean forward in rapt attention. Yet something felt off, as though he was putting up a front of some sort.

 

When she excused herself and went to the bathroom, Cat’s head was swimming - but not from the drink. Looking at herself in the mirror she wondered again what she was doing here. What he wanted with her. Steeling herself, she went back out, sat down and straight out asked him.

 

“So,” she said, fixing him with her eyes. “What’s this all about?”

 

“All what?” he said.

 

“This…” she waved her hands in front of her. “Whatever this is. Chat. Date. Whatever.”

 

Tom looked searchingly at her for a while, then glanced out the window. “Do you want to take a walk?” he asked.

 

“It’s chucking it down,” she pointed out.

 

“I have a very large umbrella.”

 

It was indeed sizeable. Outside, the dark streets were awash with rain, but Tom’s umbrella easily covered both of them. “This is quite possibly the biggest umbrella I’ve ever seen,” said Cat.

 

“A golf umbrella.”

 

“Do you play?”

 

“No,” he said with a short laugh. “But I’ve lived here long enough to know what I’m up against.”

 

They walked side by side, keeping a slow pace, seemingly without a certain goal in mind. The houses here were grand, with high fences and leafy gardens. “You live around here?” she asked.

 

“You wondered why I wanted to see you tonight,” Tom said, ignoring her question. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“Well, Catalina. It seems like I’m on the brink of something. I’ve got an interview with _The Guardian_ in a few days, and that’s not the only national paper I’ve talked to. I’ve got press to do seven days a week. I’ve done a panel at Comic Con and it was…” he trailed off.

 

“You’re going to be famous,” Cat said. “Proper famous.”

 

“I think I might just be,” he agreed. “I’ve worked hard for this, and I have to keep working, even harder. And I don’t have the time for… For anything else. This is a dream come true, and I intend to live it.”

 

He had stopped, and they were facing each other. His fierce determination now reminded her of that night, after watching _Iron Man_. She didn’t see how it answered her question, though, so she waited.

 

“Last month, I noticed a photographer outside my house, in my street,” he said.

 

“It wasn’t me,” said Cat, holding her hands up. “I’m press, not paparazzi.”

 

“I know,” he said. “But it was the first time I became aware that there’s an interest. In me.”

 

“It’s only going to get worse,” she said.

 

“I know,” he said again, impatiently, “and I need to know if you can be discreet.” The way he emphasised the last word sent chills down her spine.

 

“What do you mean?” she asked, the wheels turning frantically in her mind with the effort to see where this was going. “If you mean about what happened in Ystad, that’s in the past. No one is going to care what you did three years ago, and I’m not going to–,”

 

“I need to know if you can be discreet _now_ ,” he said.

 

Cat looked at him in confusion. His twinkling eyes and half-smile made him look almost amused. She shook her head. “You’re going to have to be more specific,” she said.

 

To her surprise, he didn’t say anything, but raised his free hand to gently tip her chin up. The kiss he gave her was soft and sweet but lingering, filled with promise.

 

“Is that specific enough for you?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” she breathed, weak at the knees despite all they’d done together three years ago. Or perhaps because of it.

 

They kissed again, and the only sounds she could hear was the rain drumming on the umbrella, the water sloshing along the pavement, and her heart pounding so hard she was sure he could feel it against his chest.

 

“Let me show you were I live,” said Tom after a while, then pressed a final kiss to her forehead and took her arm.

 

He led her along a couple of deserted streets before ducking into a narrow passageway. There were boarded fences on either side of them, and from seeing small doors every so often, Cat realised there were house gardens on the other side of the walls. Their way was lit by low street lamps, and as they walked, she tried to rationalise what was happening. He was taking her to his house after kissing her, and he wanted her to be ‘discreet’. He’d made it entirely clear that he was completely focused on his career and nothing else. And he’d called her up the same day they met again, years after a chance one night stand, to make a date. Casual sex, then. He must have assumed she’d be more than willing, what with him now being a real celebrity. Cat smiled wryly at herself. _He’s not wrong_.

 

“In here,” said Tom, fishing out a key to unlock one of the doors in the alley. 

 

The garden was fairly small and unkempt, but the house that loomed ahead in the dark was a lovely terraced Victorian one. They went in through a conservatory, crowded with stowed away garden furniture and a washing machine, and then up a few steps and on into the kitchen. She saw fresh vegetables on the counter, and expensive appliances, taking in every detail she could lay her eyes on in the dim light. A tidy front room and closed doors completed the first floor, and Tom turned on the landing lights, then invited her to go upstairs. 

 

The entire second floor seemed to consist of one big room, housing rows and rows of books, a spacious desk, and a huge television set in front of a comfortable looking settee. Cat immediately drifted over to the bookshelves. She didn’t have much space for books in her little bedsit, but the small shelf she had was already crowded with old favourites and new purchases. People without books in their homes unnerved her.

 

“Tea?” asked Tom from behind her.

 

“Yes please,” she said, searching the shelves in front of her for some clues about the man. 

 

As expected from some of his enthusiastic comments earlier, he had plenty of works by and about Shakespeare - various editions, languages and textbooks. He seemed an avid reader in general. There were biographies and novels, plays and poetry, dictionaries and comic trades, all crowding the shelves in no to her discernible order. She noted several _Wallander_ books, even one in Swedish. She picked it up just as she heard Tom come up the stairs again.

 

“Research?” she asked, holding it up.

 

“Most of my reading these days is,” he said, setting down a tray on the coffee table. “Milk?”

 

Once she had her hands around the cup, she felt how cold she’d been. Now the warmth was spreading through her as they sipped their tea in silence.

 

“I remember you as much more… Forward,” he said after a while.

 

Cat raised her eyebrows and gave him an unimpressed look. “Subtle,” she said, letting some of that cockiness she’d had as a teen seep through. “I was on a mission that day.”

 

“What kind of mission? Seducing poor, innocent Brits at the beach?”

 

“More like getting over my best friend dating my ex.”

 

“Ouch,” he said, picking up a biscuit from the tray and chewing it thoughtfully. “I was your rebound then?”

 

“You were what I was looking for there and then,” she said earnestly, setting down her cup and scooting up the sofa so that she was facing him.

 

“And what are you looking for now?” Tom asked.

 

He looked eager, almost hungry, and it made her bold. “Satisfaction,” she said, dropping her hand to his knee and trailing a finger along his thigh.

 

He took her hand and raised it to plant a kiss on her wrist. “I think I can manage that,” he said, then began slowly kissing the palm of her hand, from the faint veins at the bottom, then up and up until he reached the base of her fingers. Then he turned her hand over as if to plant his lips there gentleman style, but instead he dipped his tongue between her index and middle fingers, probing the soft flesh there before giving it a slow, sucking kiss. Cat felt her mouth drop open at the sensation. She’d used this trick herself, taking a guy’s finger into her mouth, making silent promises of things to come, but _this_ … She couldn’t help but gasp as he ran his tongue between her fingers again, the touch velvety soft but firm, sending sparks from her belly and lower down. 

 

“You had better make good on that,” she said when he lifted his eyes to hers. At that, he simply chuckled before pulling her into his lap. His kisses tasted of chocolate Hobnobs, made all the sweeter by how _good_ they were. She made the most of it, digging her fingers into his hair and pulling gently at it to mess up those perfect waves. Their kisses grew deeper, his hands on her arse, fingers digging into her cheeks until she moaned in his mouth. She ground against him then, until she felt his erection through their clothes, her touch making him jerk against her slightly, drawing noises from him too. 

 

“Let’s get this off,” he mumbled against her lips, pulling at the sleeve of her dress.

 

“Undo me then,” she said, sitting up a little straighter, and he willingly obliged, fumbling behind her for the zipper. She shrugged out of it, leaving it bunched around her waist, her bra on full display. Tom took advantage of that, trailing a finger along the lacy fabric before kissing the soft tops of her breasts.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, reaching up to push her hair out of her eyes.

 

Cat grabbed his hand, and her eyes trained on his, she returned his favour, taking his index finger between her lips and sucking softly on it. He laughed softly, then groaned, hips moving between her knees. She didn’t oblige him though, keeping him pinned to the sofa while she continued her ministrations. When she finally let his finger slip free, he crushed his mouth to hers and pulled her close.

 

“Get out of those clothes,” he said when they broke apart, his voice hoarse.

 

She climbed off his lap and let the dress fall to the floor. Carefully, she rolled down her stockings, then stood up to let him have a good look. He chuckled again, sliding down in his seat and locking his hands behind his neck, evidently admiring the view. With a questioning look at him, she reached behind her for her bra clasp. He nodded, so she let it join the dress at her feet. 

 

“These too?” she asked, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pulling at them a little.

 

“Allow me,” he said, beckoning her onto his lap again.

 

She knelt over him and he kissed her belly before slowly edging her knickers down a little, revealing the top of her labia. He gave an appreciative hmm, and she felt his breath ghost over her skin, making her bite her lip in anticipation. Carefully, the touch featherlight, he let his tongue flit across the area where her clit was hidden, and breath hitched in her throat. He did it again, slowly, and then again a little deeper, until he reached that most secret and elusive bead.

 

“Oh god,” she groaned, gripping his shoulders, and she felt him smile against her.

 

He took his time, leaving her underwear around her hips and focusing on her clit. Circling it with the tip of his tongue with slow, deliberate moves, he gently brought her from a subtle spark between her thighs to leg-trembling lust. When she came, it was with a violent surge, and she dug her fingers into his back, pushing against his mouth as he moaned in time with her.

 

Cat barely had the time to come down from her high before Tom guided her hands towards his straining pants, and as soon as she had released his cock from its confines, he urged her onto him, driving up inside her with a grunt. She was still buzzing and sensitive from her orgasm, but she clung on, trying to match his pace. It was only a matter of minutes before he came, holding her tightly, teeth nearly but not quite biting down on a breast.

 

“I’m sorry,” he panted once they had stilled. “Are you…?”

 

“I’m on the pill,” she said, still dazed from the frantic turn their sex had taken. “And I’m clean.”

 

“Good,” he said, slumping back in the sofa. “Sorry. I needed that.”

 

She could feel him shrinking inside her, and quickly stepped off him, clenching as best as she could. “Bathroom?” she asked.

 

“Upstairs,” he said, nodding towards the staircase.

 

Grabbing her clothes, she hurried off to freshen up. She dressed as well, and when she came back down, Tom was wearing a tracksuit and a cap. She’d expected this, but it still stung a little.

 

“I suppose I’d better leave,” she said, stating the obvious.

 

Tom glanced at the window. “It’s probably for the best,” he said. “We’ll go through the back, I think.”

 

“I called you a taxi,” he said as they were making their way through the narrow alleyway again. It had stopped raining, but the paved path still glistened in the light from the lamps. “I’d drive you, but…”

 

“I know,” she said. “I said I’d be discreet. And besides, you’ve been drinking.”

 

“True,” he said sheepishly. “I’m sorry about this.”

 

“Why?” she asked, trying to sound cheerful. “I enjoyed myself.” 

 

They stopped a short way from the street, Tom looking oddly boyish with his casual clothes and downcast eyes. He dug something out from his pocket. She half-expected it to be his phone number, but it was a crisp fifty-pound note. “For the taxi,” he said hurriedly. Cat glared at him, and he quickly stuffed it back. “I’m sorry,” he said, for what felt like the umpteenth time. 

 

“Thank you for tonight,” she said, forcing herself to smile, then stood on her toes to give him a little kiss, before turning around and walking out to the waiting car.

 

“Where to, my love?” asked the driver as she got in the back seat.

 

Catalina sighed. She may be proud, but she was most definitely not rich. “Nearest tube station,” she said.

 


End file.
